The big night was only hours away. Mostly I couldn’t wait for it to all be over.
“Nothing radical, Mario,” I warned, scrunching my nose as the bubbles hit my nostrils. “I still want to recognize myself when I walk out of here, okay.”
Mario looked at me with a wounded look on his round face. “What . . . you don’t trust me, Bella? That hurts my feelings, you know. Your Mama, is she not beautiful? All my work.” He pushed his chest out, pride beaming on his face.
“Yes, she’s gorgeous and you make her look amazing. But I don’t want that kind of look. I don’t want—”
“To look beautiful? You don’t want every man in the room wishing you were his?”
“Oh God, no!” I said, horror lacing my voice. “I don’t want anyone looking at me.”
That’s a lie. Only one man. He can look all he wants.
Only thing was, he’d look, but he wouldn’t see me. He’d see his best friend, his confidant. A girl, not a woman.
“There is a man you want to notice you?” Mario asked, his brown eyes soft and warm.
“No . . . um, y . . . yes.” Mario could see I was lying, I saw it in his eyes. I lowered my gaze to the floor. “But he won’t see me like I want him too.”
Mario placed his finger under my chin and raised my face. “Bella, every woman is beautiful. And through the eyes of love, you will be the most beautiful woman on the planet to some lucky bastard. Let me show you how to make the best of what nature gave you. Nothing crazy, okay? I want you to feel confident in your own skin.” He smiled at me. “Trust me, okay?” He squeezed my chin like one would that of a child, imploring me to take his word. His smile was so genuine, so caring, that I couldn’t help myself.
I nodded as a small smile crept over my face.
“Okay.” I took in a big gulp of air. “I trust you.”
Holy hell. What was I doing?
“You won’t be sorry. And your man—he won’t be able to take his eyes off you. I promise.”
That was a big promise to make. I wasn’t sure he could keep his end of the bargain, but what the hell . . . I had nothing to lose really.
“Can you trust me enough to not look in the mirror until we are finished with you?” Mario coaxed.
My eyes widened. He was kidding, right? Was I on some kind of TV show I didn’t know about? Was he hiding cameras behind those thick glass windows? My suspicions rose when out of the blue a very gay and gorgeous young man walked up to me with various makeup brushes in his hands. Mario introduced him as Nico. He was from Italy and had worked in all kinds of fashion shows. I actually felt sorry for the man—my face was a far cry from the models he was used to working with.
“Oh darling, you have cheekbones to die for and flawless skin. Your mother was right. You are a blank canvas and I can’t wait for my turn to work on you after Mario finishes with your hair.”
This is some kind of conspiracy. I narrowed my eyes at Nico, noticing his slender hands fly around as he gestured wildly. Blank canvas indeed. He was acting as if he were damn Picasso, measuring my face with the sides of his long make-up brushes.
“Perfect proportions,” he gasped. “Oh honey, this is the highlight of my damn week.”
Great. Now I was certain I was on a make-over show. The salon was beautifully decorated with huge chandeliers and gilded mirrors. The perfect backdrop for glamorous people—or turning ugly ducklings into swans.
“Mario—” I pulled at the black gown he’d placed around my neck earlier, ready to get up from the chair.
“Hush, Bella. Trust, yes? Nico is the most talented makeup artist I’ve ever worked with. He does stage makeup for famous actors and he’s done all the fashion models too . . . you are in good hands.”
Of all things, trusting anyone was probably the thing I found the hardest to do. Not that I was a control freak, I’d just seen too many people physically and emotionally broken in my line of work, sometimes by the very people they were meant to trust the most.
Like my father. Injured in the line of duty, he’d suffered greatly before he died. His legs had been torn off by a hand grenade that had been planted by a terrorist in a shopping center. He’d gone through months and months of rehab, only to lose the battle to pneumonia because he’d contracted an illness that made him vulnerable while he was in hospital.
Groaning, I slumped back into the chair and closed my eyes. Let the torture begin. Why was it that women had to go through all this crap to be acceptable?
But a small part of me was excited to see what they could do with my blank canvas. I’d seen before and after pictures of famous people and it was truly amazing what could be done to enhance a person’s features.